Pop Culture

Live from the Calvary that is Coachella, welcome to this Pop Communion that is The Cure …

Feels, on, reals.

So it is and, again, here we are… and #againagain I don’t really know where to begin or end with this one as again again again there is no beginning or end to the perpetual Pascha that is “The Cure.” I still haven’t figured it out yet, but I enjoy musing in the meantime… #fortherecord #noneofthisisbinding #itsalljustmakebelieve #dontciteme

On the seventh day, Gaga had finished this work of creation, so she put to rest this Famous curse…

The Pretense

So, “The Cure.” I guess, broadly, briefly, it feels like… surrendering into the unknown abyss after a forty-day desert trek, only to find… that the hard-fought rock bottom was but a bridge, all along, before that luminous cloud rocket number nine.

The Past Tense Rewind

So, in this going-on seventh (eighth?) annual progressive cycle in literary association with a one said aforementioned Lady, I’ve learned something (just one something, no need for greed), “This” in all its “Thisness” has always, is always, and will always be happening in increasing measure well into the foreseeable future. While I have yet to identify the source of this odd compulsion to narrate creative works which are, by definition, already complete narratives; I exist with the knowledge that said compulsion will kick-in upon each and every Gaga release –– so why fight it? #hookahsnotbazookas I don’t always have the time, energy, or resources to make proper sense of existing narratives which, again, were published with enough existing sensibility to render any further commentary moot, unnecessary, and quite frankly, distracting; but again, the music marketplace didn’t ask Gallop to poll me on my feelings, and the internet doesn’t recognize expression or human existence unless translated into code and content; so, that said: *gestures toward face* this is me caring, and *sets fingers back on keys* this is me continuing.

#imaginaryreadersayswhat “Oh, wow:” #translation ▼

#SWIPERMAKEAFXXKINGPOINT

Now then, where were we supposed to be… right, so, “The Cure” within the historical literary context of Lady Gaga’s existing zeitgeist anthology / pop biography. So, Catholics and Pop acolytes have much in common #shockofallshocks, not the least of which being a fervent allegiance to the magnanimity of ritual, the experiential translation of alchemical mystery; and that fundamentally –– beyond mere Genesis, Nativity and Passion –– we (yes, I am a part and parcel of all both within said “we”) are natural-born Easter People.And “This” in all its “Thisness,” that is The Cure, is nothing more and never anything less than the Paschal Gospel’s Contemporary Record

#WELCOMEBACKTOTHENEWTESTAMENT #OHTHISOLDNEWTESTAMENT

#gottaremembertoreadthememos #literallytheonlyfeaturedreference

In a nutshell, The Cure’s world release reads like whatever Easter means to a displaced group of Millennial anybodies who happened to follow a certain frequency to the California desert by way of caravan scene or computer screen.

First things first: #HOWCANYOUREADTHISTHERESNOPICTURES

Second things next: Sort it out, education is the motivation #Literacy #ImaginationPassport #GetToWork

Here’s a motion picture, focus and find your chill #letsread

*And now: our regularly scheduled programming*

So… in the two years and miscellany of months sinceBritney Jean… many dramatic learning scenarios have unfolded… for the shown world, and both a one Miss Britney Jean Spears, and mutually exclusively, myself #swiperitsnotaboutyou #iknow #itsalwaysbeenaboutdora #yesiknow #everypopstarisdora #igetit #keepitmoving #peoplearetryingtoreadhere #wellnotherehere #noonereadsthis #probablybecausetherestoomanyinsecurehashtags #anyway

Much like Britney Jean, said Spears nor myself have anything to prove in this latest iteration… except the reality that we live our lives as tales to be told, we record said lives to manifest alchemical gold, and beyond any and all else, we eclipse the great with the good, and actively oppose the established fallacy that human lives are nothing more than fails to be sold… which, effectually, is the everything; because Glory finds and founds itself in the amplified actualization of De Facto over De Jure Millennial Pop music culture identity, it breeds: I applaud and advocate for Glory; because I, along with a camaraderie of unbeknownst-to-us-then-undeniable-to-the-world-now Army officials, find and found the self in this relentlessly resilient tribe of born-and-bred Millennial Pop music culture creatives, I proceed.

So, without further ado (“without further ado…” it’s all melodramatic – get what the kids want and have fun with it! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) the de jure, the de facto, the one-off story riffing about the Glory that is this marvelous ninth record album from millennial cult pop tribe leader Britney Spears…

Our generation’s world war is via media, we sacrifice our daily realities for projected purpose and prominence… eye-deep in student loan debt, creating daily content free of charge to the nation’s most profitable private enterprises, data for days, the only lines shorter than the unemployment call sheet – for the good of the country, for the sake of free enterprise, for the economy, for the shareholders and foreign investors: for free WW.3 #spectacularcarnage. This manifesto is the spirit of Leeland Wright‘s work.

Here’s a little story that I made up, so let’s make believe: four years ago I had a party that was too much fun for me…

– “I’ve Just Begun (Having My Fun)”

#basically

Back in 2009, I had a little fun drafting up my list of the top twelve Pop artists from the first decade of the millennium (I get bored, it happens). I made up a little narrative of the icons that lived the blueprint for a global lifestyle – more than a genre, an ongoing epic poem defining the general public of that elusive scene, scape, soundtrack we like to call Pop. I was fresh out of undergrad; but forever a 90s kid caught in the nostalgia of homecoming kings, queens, and courts, naturally I paired off the lords and ladies of the said vanity fair, in a fitting hommage to the heralded pantheon of celebrity (which is effectually no more than a glamorized high school) #youcantsitwithus Five coupled jesters of the court, a pair of regal deities, and a pair of honorable mentions (because it’s America – so as long as you’re the best loser, there’s space for you on the podium – but don’t get crazy).

I’ve spent the past two years sinceFemme Fatalemastering the art and science of global media and communication with Britney as my canon. I don’t really need to prove anything, and apparently neither does she; because Britney Jean founds and finds itself in that, it breathes … I appreciate Britney Jean.

Holding the thread close to a dream, while intelligence becomes the steal For what if gold, showed token sold, while manners abright and rightfully bold Make a wish, a princess dream, unfold the map, a small lil bean To vanish the air and trace out the new, so scared to love, so soon who knew Beautiful voice creeps in my head, only one person person can wear this red Traces behavior, young and small; I see land, I must fall

Linger in the legacy… intelligence as the steal is Britney Jean – no, she is not GaGa, nor Madonna, nor is hers the aspired claim on their cerebral domain, that knowledge which detaches one from visceral humanity… that spark to light the first morning star. Yet, only one can wear the red, the Scarlet Letter Britney dons instead… And so seeing land, she must fall; that grounding rooting the human and iconic plight – from dust we came and to dust we return, no matter how high the peak flight.

Revealing itself much like a sunset over the Hollywood Hills… we have an aural venture through lightly hued layers of majestic technicolor faded, ascending as a systematic rise within the naturally spectacular, muted neon chromatic escalating to the heavens, forever rooted in the Canyon, steady upon the capitalized moniker of America’s finest institution – studio stardom.

SIDENOTE: ( I’m not a youth subculture celebrity icon of an era ushered in by an incumbent governor president-elect – but if I were, I would probably hook it with: “I make the governor call me the governor” – I approve, I appreciate, I acknowledge that if ifs and ands were pots and pans there’d be no #WORK for tinkers’ hands… #luckyguesses #Y2Kforeveryall)

Honeymoon isn’t even the furthest stretch of one’s falsified imagination when it comes to the Video Music Awards since 2010 #generous This year, I …. okay, I don’t actually know half of the nominees, and I might not have heard of 75% of the songs, but I can pick up a pattern from a mile away #universallaw #fortherecord

No one can predict the future, but we can recognize the present – and that’s good enough for me. Four butterflies to keep an eye on when watching the monarchy tonight… #theeverythingelse

[T]angent. Point is: Edie said of herself something that resonates so deeply with GaGa tonight, “if you just listened to what I had to say it was sane, but if you just looked at me you wouldn’t bother to listen. And none of them did. God it was a nightmare.” There isn’t that futility with GaGa, but the nightmare is quite apparent. Performance artists live their art — completely. The world is their canvas — truly. Where the art succeeds, the artist suffers, but it is for the sake of art — even if only for art’s sake.

Skin… is a many layered thing; it is artistic, it is cultural, it is biological, it rests on the fragile fringe of one’s inner and outer space… not to be melodramatic, but we consider it an overlooked focus – an abstract opus – of cultural connective tissue.

So, for Art Nouveau’s Skin issue, we chose a duo who connected all of those elements in a most masterful manner: Chester French – black tears, faced fears, a pair so open-minded about the lovable future that their well-endowed brains have descended upon every listener’s ears. We had a chat with Max and D.A. to get an inside look at how they view those elements that make the epidermis so oddly endearing.

When we come into this world, our skin is supple and soft, that unhindered remnant of divine design. For artists like Chester French, the first album is of that same fresh design. The label signs you because of that new-new you bring to this world. Musicians wear that skin like a manifestation of the self. Unlike the child though, an artist can craft their own primary skin; now more than ever though, it is getting harder to make that sonic aesthetic a signature different than all others.

KE: How important is it to build your own sonic aesthetic through your music, and what do you think your skin is in the industry?

CF:I think – to answer the first part of the question – I think for us it’s kind of important to try and carve out what is our territory creatively in terms of what we want to make and how we want it to sound. I think there’s so much music and so many people in music feel like they have to constantly be following, either super-new trends or really established ideas about how music should sound at a given moment. For us it’s way more important to find a sound that’s unique to us, than it is to “fit in” to any group, necessarily…

KE:Basically, my thing is this: skin is functional and fashionable. It is the first line of defense, but musically it is that very foundation of artistic identity which requires the greatest defense of all.

It’s one thing to look good, a freshman feat that Love the Future achieved, but it’s another entirely to make that good look last: enter Music 4 TNGRS.

KE:What is a TNGR, and what is this music you’re making for them from this standpoint?